The Bat and the Top Hat
by could it be liza
Summary: Takes place in Gotham a few months after Zatanna's betrayal in mind-wiping Batman of an incident in the Justice League watchtower. Can Zatanna ever regain Bruce's trust? What happens when Zatanna needs the Batman's help -can he look past her deception?
1. Chapter 1

Gotham was really spectacular at night. Of course, you had to be looking in the right places, but locals always knew how. The rich and elite of the city could cast away the darker, grungier parts with a bat of a thick eyelash and a clink of a champagne glass. Most people surmised that was why the Narrows and various other slums in the city got as bad as they did. There was such a gap between the rich and the poor that the underbelly of the city was constantly overlooked. And with neglect, evil festers effortlessly.

Nonetheless, no person could deny Gotham's cleaner areas were a sight to behold just after seven. When the silk cloth of night eased over the skyscrapers and the lights turned on. Flashes of light, pounding music from the clubs, sleek Mercedes purring down the streets, extravagant galas making the floors of the prestigious hotels glitter -like a city from the movies. So crisp and perfect it couldn't possibly exist. Where the rich were all beautiful and the clothes impeccable.

That image of Gotham was only viewable by those drunk off luxury and fame, seated in the plush silk and sparkle of ignorance. Example A: Zatanna Zatara. Quite literally propped up on her elbows, tangled in the silk sheets of her king sized bed. Empty tonight, as she had told herself she needed some one on one time. The tour schedule had been grueling the last month and she'd barely had time to think for herself, don't even mention pamper herself.

She was painting her nails a deep red, but even the borderline inappropriate shade wasn't improving her mood. Even just a day away from the adoring public and social interactions in general had her down in the dumps. She'd convinced herself she'd needed tonight for herself and -damn it. She couldn't even enjoy it. Had she become a sociopath or something? She went ravenous when she couldn't feed on the public. The young sorceress huffed and blew on her nails a bit, capping the bottle of the paint a little absently, and got up.

If there was one thing Zatanna knew how to do, it was how to get herself out of a funk. And if there was one thing she knew how to do better, it was to _party. _Twenty minutes later she was staring herself down in her long mirror adjacent to her previously depressing bed. Violet blue eyes went up and down her figure, making sure everything was in check and her recent slump in morale hadn't had any repercussions when concerning the best set of legs in Gotham.

Her new Versace dress was hot, hot, hot. It was black but cut dangerous low at her ample, white chest and had an invitingly obscene slit up the side to leg one tempting leg breathe freely. Her upper body looked like an artists elegant swipe of ink and with a deep inhale her clavicles broadened and little white shoulders softened. Her waist tapered in and let the full extravagance of the gown spill out from there. Maybe a little too dressy to go out to a club? As if the public didn't already know her as overzealous. It was practically her middle name.

And her face didn't deny any of it. Her skin was smooth and like moonlight and made what might have been a sharp, angular face soft and supple. Her lips were dramatic and apple red, her eyes like a modern day Elizabeth Taylor's. She'd somewhat managed to fashion her thick mane of black hair into a french twist and drew some attention to the curve of her neck with some heavy pearl earrings. All in all, a pretty successful last minute ensemble.

And with that, the mistress of magic herself was out on the town, soaking up Gotham's glitter -and certainly not gold- and hitting every club downtown. A pretty girly drink here, smiling for the paparazzi as she enjoyed playing with the collar of some expensive looking man probably three years younger than her. A hard shot of whiskey there so she got the gall enough to dance in her flowy dress at another club. Finally, if she found a date on her rounds, she'd take him to a lovely restaurant on the water -the best that money could buy. The paparazzi would try and sneak a table and Zatanna would just gobble it all up, smiling that crest-toothpaste smile and laughing like she didn't care who heard.

She was the epitome of a young starlet, beautiful, rich and so deeply, deeply unhappy that it was almost microscopic to the public. Sitting there tonight with her newest pick from a bar two blocks over, she pretended to be interested and enthralled by him. His eyes were a boyish blue and the tousled mop of blonde hair over his head endeared her to him, but she didn't feel anything. No burning fire, no butterflies -she'd convinced herself falling in love was no longer for her. She'd tried so many times before that the idea of love became dull.

But she sipped her wine thoughtfully, not as tipsy as she'd hoped to be after her bar hopping, and kept on a smile for whatever cameras might be pointed her way and signed a few autographs of patrons passing her table. She listened to the blabber of the young college graduate across from her and tried to tell herself that this was the life. And there was nothing better than it. Superheroine by day, starlet and celebrity by night. She could bury her problems under Diane von Furstenburg and Chteau Margaux wine.

Zatanna lifted her violet eyes around the restaurant where the rest of the elite stationed themselves. The boy across from her was still prattling off his impressive, but to her boring, list of achievements since graduating. She nodded when appropriate but her attention was suddenly captivated by movement at the door to the outdoor balcony. There was a scuttle of people, even more paparazzi then when she'd enter. A flare of competition and jealousy naturally made her straighten in her seat a bit.

Then, a familiar face finally broke through the crowd. Handsome jaw, Romanesque nose, steely blue eyes that held so much weight she'd always been surprised the ground just didn't crack open under the man, Bruce Wayne was unmistakable. The pang of jealousy and competition deflated effortlessly and was replaced with a sharp note of pain that resonated in her chest. There once was a time that she could wave him over and kiss him on the cheek, enjoy his company, the smell of Ivory soap on his warm skin. But that wouldn't happen now, and maybe not ever again. She'd betrayed him, how could she expect anything more?

Still, she attempted to smile at him, catch his eye. A blonde pin-up looking girl hung on his arm and complimented his Adonis-like features. Zatanna suddenly felt naked in her Versace dress and a little outdone with her baby-faced date. Bruce's eyes made his way around the room for a table. He saw her, she was sure of it. But he brushed her off cooly like she didn't exist. Zatanna visibly cringed and turned back to her drink and her date. Bruce could really make a girl feel like shit -it wasn't enough to just ignore her apologetic calls and invitations. He had to look right through her, like she didn't exist, like she'd _never_ existed. She was dead to him.

Zatanna pouted into her wine glass and signaled the waiter over for a refill. Her date fidgeted a little anxiously at the alcohol the tiny woman across from him could apparently take in and visibly paled once her glass was refilled and she nearly downed the whole glass. She looked at him apologetically and urged him to continue his story. But she couldn't help but slide her gaze over to the recently seated handsome, hulking figure a few tables over.

Suddenly, she was back at the Watchtower, leaning over him in his hardened mask and wiping his memories of a certain incident -taboo to speak of now- clear from his brilliant head. She'd stripped him of his memory, and in that stripped him of his trust in her, and their friendship. There wasn't a day, a night or a second she didn't regret it. Her father would have been ashamed of her. Everyone was ashamed of her. She was ashamed of herself. And she wanted so badly to make it up to Bruce. But there were always actions and words that one could never take back.

Sighing gingerly, Zatanna bit her lip and looked up at her date. "Honey, I'm sorry, I'm not feeling well," she lied effortlessly, "Would you mind taking me home?" Right back where she'd started. She'd left her damn bed to stop feeling sorry for herself, and now she was headed straight back even more worse for the wear. Tonight was definitely a Ben & Jerry's night.


	2. Chapter 2

She honestly couldn't believe she was doing this. A soft white hand cradled the receiver of her vintage looking phone and her fingers curled around the body of it with visible apprehension. Her red painted nails from a few weeks ago were chipped to hell and ugly. But there were -for once- more important things to worry about than the state of her nail polish. Zatanna's heart slammed in her chest and she bit her lip harshly. She wanted to put the phone back on the hook, and almost did, before Katy's face flashed inside her eyelids when she closed them.

"Damn it," she cursed softly and then stuck a chipped nail into the wind up number dialing and started to work at punching in a number she knew by heart.

The dial tone buzzed against her ear. Her heart was going to explode, she was sure of it. It was like the stage jitters, but ten thousand times worse. Zatanna hated to be in this position -vulnerable, self-conscious. She was Gotham's favorite magician for Christ's sake and was so full of audience captivating smiles and laughter that no one was any the wiser that she had some serious insecurities. They were all buried deep down in the recess of her mind but it didn't take much to shovel them out. Uncomfortable situations like this one seemed to unearth a multitude of her deepest secrets -her fear of inadequacy. Under all her warmth and confidence was a woman who had no idea where her life was going. And this seemed to all make it crash down on top of her.

"_Hello?"_

She jumped about a foot in the air at the voice on the other end. It was familiar, low and a little hoarse. The mix of pleasure and anxiety made her knees weak and she decided it would be best if she lowered herself into her favorite arm chair at her left. Once she'd seated herself she crossed one devilishly divine leg over the other and drew in a breath.

"Bruce?"

"_Zatanna."_

It wasn't a question. He'd pinned her instantly and the disapproval in his tone even just speaking her name made her heart ache. She could remember them as children, then as teenagers as her father -bless his soul- taught him the art of illusion and escaping. Then as adults -well, the League had pretty much ruined everything. But she remained strong.

"Yeah, hey -um. How are you?" she asked awkwardly. _So much for showing him your strength, Zee._

"_Are you calling just to catch up or do you have something important to say, because I'm a little busy."_

The harshness in his voice stung her, and she could tell he was just about ready to hang up on her. Zatanna wanted to let him, she deserved nothing more. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. Katy's face came back to her. No -she needed him, if not for her sake, then for Katy's.

"I need your help, Bruce."

That got his attention. She heard him take a breath. She knew him well enough to picture his face, probably trying to ward off any concern for her that he might have been feeling. She heard footsteps, like he was separating himself from whatever gaggle of followers he was entertaining that evening.

"_Are you in trouble?"_

"No, not me. My friend, my friend Katy is dead," she swallowed thickly after saying so, "The cops say it was an accident but I'm -I'm not so sure."

She had now made it obvious whose help she needed. Not Gotham's billionaire playboy, but instead his other persona. The man of even fewer words and a dark mask that kept everything out, and everything else in. The image of his wild blue eyes staring at her through the cowl as she wiped a few of his memories away and then the look in them when he'd found out about the ordeal washed over her like a wave. What the hell was she doing? Did she really expect Bruce to help her? He should be telling her to kiss his ass and hang up. But she knew it wouldn't be the case. If he hated her, he was still a man intrigued by delivering justice.

"_Meet me at the manor."_

Short, compact, too the point -Bruce had hung up before Zatanna could even thank him. But she knew time was of the essence then, because he damn well meant immediately. Not meet him in five minutes, or an hour -_now_. The young sorceress was a mess of emotions as she pulled up a dark washed pair of jeans that stuck to her famous legs like it was their job and slipped her feet into a pair of Marc Jacobs heeled black boots. She was excited, ecstatic even, that she could see him. That he wouldn't be able to look at her tonight like she didn't exist. He would have to acknowledge her presence. Not that she deserved the gesture -but that didn't mean she wasn't grateful for it. She would be able to hear his voice, work beside him, just be _near_ him, for the first time in months. Her heart was almost bursting through her chest. But on the same token, she was afraid. What would he say? Could she bear him looking at her with betrayed eyes? Maybe continuing to ignore her would be easier on her heart. And would she be able to prove her friend hadn't died in some freak accident? As excited as she was to be on -rough- speaking terms with Bruce again, she had to remember the bottom line of their relations. This was strictly a business deal, to honor Katy and make sure justice was given where it was due.

There was probably going to be nothing more to their relationship after that. And she had to accept that.

Zatanna slipped herself into a black silk Miu Miu motorcyle jacket that made her ample chest seem a bit offensive as it stretched the fabric before letting it curve in towards her much tinier waist. A quick glance in the mirror couldn't be helped as she headed for the door. Black jacket, dark jeans and black boots -perhaps a little over dramatic? But hell, she was going to talk to the Batman, this seemed appropriate attire. Maybe a little extravagant, but Bruce knew her better than anyone. She'd bet money he'd be prepared for it.

Taking a deep breath she closed her eyes and pursed her lips, preparing herself.

"Enyaw ronam!" she commanded, using the incantation backwards as her father had taught her. It was really the only way she knew how to perform magic these days. A bit of a crutch, but it worked well enough.

In a flash of purple light she was no longer standing in her own bedroom, but on the steps just outside the door of the looming Wayne Manor. The place was so dark from the outside. And from the inside, it wasn't much better. There was so much harbored darkness that one couldn't peel off the walls. It gave her the shivers and she rubbed at her shoulders in the crisp evening. She rapped once on the door, then twice. Being patient was never her strong suit.

Finally the doors opened in front of her and a beaming face greeted her. If there was one thing still wholesome and happy about the Wayne Manor, it was Alfred. He had such a kind heart and it shone so brightly Zatanna almost had to squint in his presence. The worn wrinkles of a smile curled his mouth and twinkled in his gray blue eyes, a white receding hairline caught the light on the outside of the steps.

"Come in, come in, Master Bruce said to expect you," he ushered her inside warmly and then closed the doors behind her, "It's been a long time Ms. Zatara."

He didn't say it angrily, or with the slightest bit of judgment. It was merely an observation. She smiled wearily at him, hoping her eyes conveyed how grateful she was for his kindness. And if that was not enough she suddenly came close and pulled the older man into a hug, planting a little kiss on his cheek. When she pulled away he looked a little flustered, but smiling like the Alfred she'd always known. To have him not hate her guts despite all of this was the biggest comfort she could have asked for.

"Too long," she said with a nod.

Now, the moment of truth.

"Is Bruce..."

"In the place he is most often found these days. I'll walk you down."

Zatanna nodded her thanks and tried to steel herself against her anxiety as Alfred led her down the winding secret passage ways and then the dangerous stone staircase down into the depths of the batcave. It was damp and chilly in there and she was glad she hadn't taken off her jacket and left her hair down. The thick waves and weight of it kept her neck warm as she clicked her way down after Alfred's lead.

She could faintly hear typing to her left and willed herself to be brave and just look.

"Master Bruce?"

Zatanna let her eyes flutter over to the side when Alfred tried to get the man's attention. Low and behold, there he was, sitting at a computer the size of a billboard. His suit and cape were still intact but his cowl was absent. His face was rugged and gifted with a few day old stubble, his hair unkempt -no doubt an effect of pulling off the mask- and his face a little pale. Bats were nocturnal. Bruce Wayne wasn't, no matter how hard he tried to be.

Bruce didn't even turn a head towards them. He continued to click at his computer, pulling up files here and news articles there. Zatanna ogled his heavy arms leaned up on the desk, rippling bands of strength evident even under his body armor. The wide berth of his shoulders looked perfect for her hands to dip in and she had to clench hers in fists to resist the temptation as she continued her way fully down the stairs to stand a good ten feet behind him.

"Your friend Katy, she worked for a man named Loxais, right?" Bruce's hoarse voice was direct and curt. It cut right through her and another shiver that had nothing to do with the chill of the cave made her tremble.

He was asking a perfectly valid question, but the lack of a greeting or even a look of acknowledgment made it clear where he stood on this arrangement. He wanted it done and over with as quickly as possible, so she would get out of his hair. Zatanna watched as Alfred gave her a knowing and apologetic look and dismissed himself, heading up the stairs.

And she was alone with him. Practically smelling the hate and disappointment as it rolled off him and over to her, wrapping her in a choke hold. She ran a hand through her hair, not daring to take another step forward lest he whip around and drop kick her off the edge of the cavern.

"Yes," she whispered, trying not to sound as broken as she felt in the shadow of his rejection.

But she had to remind herself. She deserved this. She deserved worse, actually. The fact that he was even taking time to help her and address her should make her happy. But it didn't. Not much did, these days.


	3. Chapter 3

The content in this chapter/a few after and the beginning story arc is credit to The Detective Comics #833 and the DC verse and of course is not of my own creation. I decided to put the credit upfront here because this section is very much just my take on that particular comic -I did not invent the situation, etc. Enjoy!

* * *

The leggy woman moved over to his side bravely. Let Bruce flinch away from her mere presence if he wanted to, at least she would have a better idea of how to act around him. To her relief though, he barely blinked an eye at her. Her long, evenly curved body towered at her side. This was the only time she was ever looking down at Bruce from under thick black lashes. When he was standing he was a good head taller than her. Zatanna instinctively went to brace her stance with a hand on the arm of his chair, but thought better of it and just bent slightly at the waist to inspect the screen of the computer and his work.

She wondered breifly if he could smell her Ralph Lauren perfume on her as well as she could smell the Armani cologne wafting off his tired figure. She also wondered if he _could_, if it was distracting him as much as his was distracting her. She could barely concentrate on the multitude of articles and pictures he'd splayed across the screen while her head was whirling with the effects of the scent mixed with his own crisp masculinity. She swallowed hard to try and regain her composure. Or at least gather up the pieces of the one she'd dropped when he'd regarded her so coldly.

"I told Katy she should leave his act. After he broke his leg he just kept putting the show girls in longer and more dangerous acts -his stage hands and performers got hurt on a regular basis. But it was a good gig, she said," Zatanna let her words come out smooth and evenly, trying not to trip and stumble over her words like her insecurity was trying to get her to.

Bruce nodded. He kept his eyes to the screen. He hadn't looked at her once since she'd arrived. It seemed effortless to him. He still had this artful way of making her feel like she didn't exist, even when she was standing a foot away from him and having a conversation. But it was still nice to hear his voice. She could at least find solace in that.

"I didn't know who it was when I investigated her death. But I was there when Gordon shut Loxias down, his habit of making shows of his performers injuries wasn't sitting well with the police." His voice was dark and gruff. It sent shivers of pleasure and nostalgia up and down her spine.

"Bet he was real happy about that."

"The question remains, why Katy? Would Loxais have any reason for wanting her out of the picture?"

Zatanna shook her head violently, "No, no. She was the sweetest thing you'd ever meet. Wouldn't swat at a fly. I can't think why he, or anyone else, would want to hurt her."

Bruce suddenly stood from his chair. The movement surprised the young magician so much she lurched back, violet eyes wide with apprehension. Her unease was rewarded. Standing and making his way behind the chair, his eyes passed over hers for a split second. Vibrant violet met steely, cold blue for a half a second before he ripped his gaze away bitterly and quickened his pace. The dark cape about his shoulders swirled like the black ocean their relationship had become. Zatanna reached out gently to grab his shoulder but was an inch too short.

She wanted to apologize again to him, right there. Get on her knees and beg for his forgiveness even. Anything to get him to look at her like she was a friend instead of a monster. The heavy, tangled curls in her hair seemed to wobble along with her resolve as she watched him head over to another computer hanging over what looked to be a bench full of chemistry gadgets and flasks. Before she could attempt her apology Bruce was speaking.

"In the video I pulled from the police records it shows her being bound and gagged, then moved into the box. Five minutes later the pulled the top off and she was already dead," he pointed to the screen, narrating as the clips played in slow motion. Zatanna felt a little queazy, watching her friend in her final moments. She was even more rattled by Bruce's almost callous way of referring to it. He was certainly justified to not dance around the concept of death and loss, but she'd never quite gotten used to it.

She lifted her chin though and feigned strength. Her boots clicking along the tile of the raise in the floor, she made her way towards the stoic figure of the un-cowled Batman and placed her hands on her hips. She dared not get close to him again. The magnetic pull he had over her was too painful to be shut off and she didn't know how long she could last, pulling this fake wall of strength over her face, with his presence touching distance away.

She stopped on the other end of the table from him and pointed at the screen.

"That's not fake struggling, Bruce. She's terrified."

Bruce stopped the clip on a particularly disturbing frame of Katy with her mouth bound, her eyes wide and nearly popping out of her head with fear. You couldn't fake terror like that, no matter how good of a performer you were. And Zatanna was talented enough to notice the difference between good acting and downright raw emotion. She lowered her eyes from the screen, not being able to bear the horror in Katy's face, frozen in time.

"That's the interesting part. I recovered the gag from the scene and processed it -it was soaked in walnut oil." He spoke as if he already knew where this was going. And skillfully avoided her gaze at the same time.

Zatanna bristled. Her heart sunk to the pit of her stomach. It would have been easier on her, on Bruce, on Katy, if this was all just a careless stage accident. But now it was clear to her it really wasn't. Her hunch had been correct.

"She was allergic. Deathly allergic to all that stuff," she said with great difficultly.

She looked up and saw Bruce's mouth softened. His face was still as hard as ever, but a soft down curve of his lips made him appear human again. For a moment she imagined him crossing the distance between them and taking her into his arms -the safest place anyone could ever be. But also the loneliest. It didn't matter, he stayed on his end of the table anyway and as soon as she'd seen the softness in his mouth it disappeared and the thin pressed line was back.

"I think we owe Loxais a visit," Bruce said in a guttural purr that was unintentionally knee weakening.

Zatanna watched him in a haze as he brushed right by her at a taunting distance -just close enough to touch but far enough away to exemplify the ocean of distrust he'd put between them- and went to his desk again to retrieve his cowl. She watched him with a sad sort of pity as he pulled on the dark mask and transformed before her.

Gotham, the city with the glittering parties, sleek Mercedes and high class snobs. Where the clothes were all designer, and the rich were all beautiful. And where the highest on the ladder had the deepest, darkest secrets that dragged them back into Hell to meet up with their demons. With his impressive back to her, Zatanna felt like she and Bruce were the same person. Two completely different entities to them, but one whole being all the same. Ripping itself down the middle.

The Batman turned back to her and she could only just recognize the harsh blue reflective quality of his eyes under the shadow of the cowl. There was a time where she would have joked about his bat ears, or the outdated material of his cape, or something trivial. Something that she would be expected to say accompanied by her loud, unhindered laughter.

But now she could only look on and halfheartedly murmured an incantation for herself, "Gnikrow sehtolc raeppa," and let a burst of light finally leave her in her less appropriate but world renowned outfit. It was her stage ensemble as well as it was her style of choice while fighting crime. The flashy black silk top hat perched on top of her head, a tight vested black tail coat that opened up to let a white blouse spill over and make her chest appear even bigger than it was. The leotard onesie was accompanied by nothing else but her long fishnets that ran under it and elongated the most famous set of legs in Gotham and gave the outfit a touch of raciness she'd been both praised and reprimanded for in her career. A scarlet ribbon was knotted at her throat and matched the apple red frown of her lips as Bruce passed her again without a second look.

He was headed for the sleek black Batmobile and she raised an eyebrow.

"You know I can just transport us wherever we want to start," she said slowly, knowing fully well he hadn't forgotten.

For the first time all night, he really _looked_ at her. For a long period of time, harshly, intensely, deeply. She could feel the weight of the world that was resting on his shoulders just gingerly in his gaze. It frightened her.

"Let's keep the magic to a minimum tonight," he said curtly.

"You never seemed to opposed to it before," she retorted back, a little defensively. Stripping Zatanna Zatara of her magic was like stripping the infamous Batman of his little ears.

But before she could snap back anymore, he cut her a gaze that might have slit her throat had he had laser vision.

"That was before."

That shut her the woman up. Hurt deeply by his resurfacing of old wounds, she wrapped one arm around herself for comfort. Her heart that was resting uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach seemed to disintegrate under his gaze.

"Bruce," she pleaded, "I'm sorry. I've told you a thousand times. I know I don't deserve forgiveness but please, please just understand me. That was the biggest mistake of my life. I know -I know I wronged you, I betrayed your trust."

All she'd been planning to say all night tumbled out of her in a rush of hurried words and desperation. Her wide violet eyes trembled and if it wasn't for the stark, dramatic white around the irises it might have seemed that she was close to tears. She took a steadying breath after the flow of words and cringed, waiting for his reaction. What a perfect world it would be if he would just smile and tell her it was alright and slap her on the back. They would be back to being thick as thieves in no time, all of the nonsense forgotten.

But instead, he remained as cold as ever. The top to the Batmobile slid back with a swoosh of metal and he finally looked away from her. It was impossible to read his eyes with the cowl on.

"We're taking the car," was all he said finally after an agonizing few minutes of silence.

Zatanna crumpled in on herself. Dutifully, her platform heels clicked along the stalagmite and rock and she eased herself over and into the seat of the Batmobile. Bruce was already seated next to her and he revved the engine as the ceiling closed. Their arms were almost touching in the tight enclosure. She hadn't been this close to him in months. But she couldn't help feeling that they were even farther away then when they'd started. She was in China and he was sitting in America as the Batmobile pealed out of the chilly darkness of the batcave and into the inky Gotham evening.


	4. Chapter 4

The car ride was painfully silent. She couldn't even conjure up a goddamn stack of cards to play with because of Bruce's no-magic rule that night. So she fumbled with her hands, chipping the last of the red paint off a few fingernails, wishing to all that was holy that the Batmobile had a goddamn radio. Bruce didn't speak a word. And when she couldn't resist and slid her gaze over to him, she found his gaze dispassionately straight ahead on the road. The city lights flickered over his cowl, but that was the only movement.

Thankfully, the theater Bruce had chosen for their starting position was only a ten minute drive. Zatanna couldn't have been happier when the pulled up on the street and the ceiling rushed back over their heads. The cool evening air flooded over her and she gulped a greedy breath in. She hadn't realized how close to suffocating she'd been in there. One long leg slipped gracefully over the side of the car, then the other, and she was on her feet adjusting her top hat a bit over her head. She folded her arms.

Now was the time to get down to business. This was serious. This was about Katy. She could wallow in her depression over Bruce having a stick up his ass towards her later. Now was the time to be serious and be as business-like as Bruce could. She swallowed hard and lifted her violet gaze to the face of the theater.

"You really think he'll be here?" she asked, knowing they probably wouldn't be here if he wasn't.

"Yes," came the rough growl of the Batman as he crossed in front of her and jogged up the steps.

Zatanna grumbled something under her breath about jogging in heels but made her way obediently after him, a gust of wind threatening to blow off her hat as she ascended the steps. Loxais was waiting inside, she became as sure of it as Bruce was. Criminals were always of a different breed, but most often predictable. Returning to the scene of the crime and his most popular hang out seemed almost too easy, but made perfect sense.

Batman pushed open the doors in front of her and the musty, warm smell of the inside of the theater rushed at them both. It was a comforting feeling for her. The smell of a theater, the upholstery, the quiet emptiness when no one had arrived yet -just a few of her favorite things. Her favorite times performing were those moments when the audience was just about to be let in and she could sit alone on the gleaming wood stage and just take in the beauty of the venue. She almost permitted herself a smile and the sensations but upon stepping further inside, she noticed something was off. Some darkness,a bad vibe, a chill spread out over her entire body.

"This way," Bruce grumbled and lead her around the wide berth of the seating area.

The two of them walked silently down the length of the floor until they met the stage. Bruce put one toe on the step of the stage and suddenly the lights flashed on. Zatanna jumped despite herself but the Batman merely looked up, his eyes going every direction they could to try and find the source of the sudden theatrics. The curtains swished open next to reveal a grinning Loxais standing with his arms wide open.

"I didn't expect an audience tonight!" he called out generously.

Bruce made his way fully onto the stage, hanging on the edge and keeping his distance from Loxais. Zatanna craftily made her way around the opposite end and ascended the steps to the other magician's left, trapping him in the middle of her and Bruce's tag team defense. The curtains finally sloshed against each other in the corners and came to a stop. The noises ceased and Loxais put his hands on his hips, staring between the two crime fighters.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" he asked evenly. Zatanna's eyebrows drew down. She hadn't noticed before how strange his voice was. How forced it seemed.

"Katy Whitley," Zatanna snapped vehemently, "Ring a bell?"

"It does," Loxais entertained. There was something sinister and familiar about his smile.

"You killed her," Zatanna continued, deciding to get it over with quick. She didn't want to beat around the bush with this guy. Her fury was building up so fast and heavy in her she could barely stand to just stay put and wait for Bruce's signal to do something. It would be so easy to just murmur an incantation and have him wrapped up and smothered in the stage curtains. But no, she was on strict regulation tonight. She had to wait for Bruce.

Loxais grinned that unnerving grin and turned from Zatanna to Batman, looking between the two happily as if they were all the closest of friends. He ran a hand lightly through his hair and sighed. He stepped closer to the edge of the stage and Zatanna saw from the left that the figure of the Batman stiffened, ready for action. But Loxais didn't try to escape. He merely gestured to the empty array of seats and smiled dreamily.

"When I first started performing, I couldn't get enough of it. Having hundreds of people just hanging off my every word, my every movement -well, it was practically _intoxicating. _You must know," he gestured to Zatanna, who bristled at the idea that she and Loxais were even remotely similar. He shrugged at her silence and continued. "I couldn't help but try and outdo myself every time. And when my devoted public started to expect injuries at every one of my shows, well the response was just too much to ignore. They ate the suspense up. My ticket sales rocketed. Sacrifices like poor, dear Katy had to be made!"

"So why kill her?" the Batman spoke up in that dark, almost sensual growl of his. It resonated in the echoic space of the stage.

Loxais turned on him and shrugged.

"She was getting a little too _vocal_ about my method of risk taking in my acts, if you know what I mean. I had to shut her up somehow."

An enraged noise came from Zatanna. Her entire body was tensed, ready for something to happen, begging for something to happen. If she couldn't use her magic then she'd sure as hell tackle him and send her heel through his skull. He made her sick inside, he made her blood boil. Especially with that haunting way of smiling while he spoke about all of it. Her fists clenched and she bared her teeth in a sneer. If anyone was ever skeptical of the leggy magician's ability to be a crime fighter, they hadn't seen her like this. With furious passion for justice and anger that could blow up a building.

"I have never wanted to hurt any other being as much as I want to hurt you," she spat at him, her body shaking with fury.

Loxais grinned, "Me first."

With movements too fast for even the Batman to follow, the man drew a pistol from the inside of his jacket. The silver glinted in the harsh stage lights for a moment before he pulled the trigger and the noise exploded in the silent theater.

_BANG!_

It echoed like a clap of thunder. Heat. All she felt was heat for a moment. Time seemed to slow down and she stumbled backwards, hit with a force she couldn't place. Like an invisible someone had just socked her in the jaw. The sound rushed out of her ears and her mind concentrated solely on the heat. It spread from the base of her throat to her jaw and it was white hot. A fire had caught on her scarlet ribbon, she was sure of it. And now it was charring her flesh mercilessly.

Pain. It took a few moments before her shock could wear off and she could replace the heat sensation with its real counterpart. Pain. Burning, excruciating, stupefying pain. She wanted to call out and scream but found her throat blocked. Something bubbled on her tongue and spilled down her lips. It was warm and thick.

"_ZATANNA!"_

She heard Bruce's voice as if it were a million miles away. Her hand reached up to assess the damage of her throat but she was only met by blood, soaking her hand, dribbling down the white chiffon blouse over her chest. She gargled the liquid in an effort to breathe and stared with wild, frightened eyes at Loxais who grinned at her as her knees buckled and she slammed onto the floor of the wooden stage.

She tried to prop herself up with one arm and fight unconsciousness. Her eyes tried to roll back in her head but she fought the feeling and watched from her crumpled position as the Batman dove for her. But he was met with Loxais's foot long knife he'd seemingly pulled from nowhere and cried out as it pierced the weakness in his suit and drove through his abdomen.

Zatanna struggled to move to help him but her world was spinning. Coughing madly she braced herself against the stage and watched as the pool of crimson ebbed underneath her. Her hand went back to her throat to try and staunch the bleeding but it was no use. It was pouring out of her like a waterfall.

On a second look back up to the stage she saw Batman fallen over into a seemingly innocent looking chair, holding his chest, but Loxais danced over and pressed a button lightening fast and straps suddenly came around Bruce's head, his right wrist and both of his legs. He cried out and struggled against them. Zatanna caught his steely eyes on her desperately as he tried to break an arm free. But before he could white electricity popped and buzzed around him. His muscular form arched in agony as the volts rushed through him. A clearly muffled sound of agony passed through his clenched teeth.

Loxais, satisfied with his work, then moved over to Zatanna. The pool of blood under her was sticky and black with its darkness. She seperated the puddle with a blind movement of one of her already bloody hands and the line lengthened and brightened in color as it separated from the pool. Something like the light of an idea rushed through her eyes, but no sooner had it come to her than Loxias was picking her up. He held her roughly and carted her right past Batman who was still at the mercy of the electricity, to a large _something_ shielded with a cloth. Zatanna tried to stay conscious, lucid. But her life was pouring out of her. She already felt dizzy from the blood loss.

"Rumor has it, Zatanna uses _real_ magic by speaking backwards to perform her tricks," Loxais said loudly, both to penetrate the bloody haze the younger magician was slipping into and the loud popping of electricity from the chair. "Now that I've destroyed her pretty little vocal chords, I'd like to see her get out of _this_ one."

Adjusting her in his cold arms, he reached forward with one hand and unveiled what was lingering under the sheet. A narrow, rectangular glass case full of water. There was a ladder propped up against it and Loxais dragged the limp rag doll form of Zatanna, who was too out of it to even struggle against him at that point, and dropped her unceremoniously inside.

The rush of water enveloped her. All the sounds rushed away besides her frantic bubbles as she finally started to thrash in her containment. The water made her top hat float upwards where Loxais grabbed it and then shut the lid, cackling in an all too familiar way. Her hair floated around her like a ghosts and the dark wisps cascaded over her face that was a sickly white color. Blueing, even. Dark clouds of blood continued to pour from her wound and filled the tank with a pinky hue.

Her hand fumbled for the top of the containment but it was sealed shut. And she was losing strength quickly. She had to think of something.

Loxais rounded the corner and arrived back at the Batman in his chair that had stopped zapping him for the time being. Perfect timing. Grinning like a fool the man tore of his sunglasses, making a show of it for the armored, dark clad man struggling in front of him. Then, Loxias fixed his fingers under his own jaw and started to pull. His previous laughter started, but then became unhinged. Horrible, nasally cackles started to fill the auditorium as he threw back his head and laughed and laughed. The sound was unmistakable.

And as he finally succeeded in pulling off the fake silicon mask, his true face was revealed. Bone white, with a red painted smile and a head of vibrant green hair. The Joker. His laughter spun on and on as his mad green eyes burned as he pushed the button and sent the electricity back onto his favorite playmate. The power zapped and buzzed and accompanied his hysterics.

"I gotcha good this time, Batman!"


	5. Chapter 5

The water was cold. Or maybe it was her. Her body felt cold, a chill crept up from the base of her toes to the crown of her head. Everything felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Especially her head. All she wanted to do was sleep. She wanted to stop fighting and just open up her lungs and let the water rush in and take her. She was just so tired.

With her eyes squinted open in the water, she could see the back of Loxais. Her vision was too fuzzy to see much of anything else, except Bruce's gloved hand wrapped up tight against the arm of the chair. If she was too tired to save herself, then she could at least channel the last of her energy in trying to save him. If she gave up now they were both dead.

But what could she do? She was a sorceress with the world at her fingertips, and yet a simple bullet could render her completely useless. If she couldn't speak, she couldn't act. But she couldn't just give up and die. If _anything_, she could at least work off of her pride. She was Zatanna Zatara, the Mistress of Magic, the Princess of Prestidigitation! She wasn't going to let some low life with a fancy pistol get the best of her. No way in hell.

In her haze, her lungs itching with the need to draw in even a sip of oxygen, she drifted back to her days of staying up late reading in her father's spell books. She ate up those back in the day like girls her age ate up trashy romance novels. She couldn't get enough of the scriptures and vastness of her unknown, and untapped powers. It made her feel secure, but at the same time so very frightened by her own abilities.

Now, thinking back, wracking her shorting brain for answers -she stumbled upon a memory. A file that she quickly ripped open and dove into, desperate for something that could help. Blood incantations. It was so simple. But so absolutely batshit insane she wondered if she should even try at all. It was something of old witchcraft spell books, something about writing in blood, performing magic in blood. It was a little too theatrical -even for her tastes- at the time she'd been reading it, but now it could just save her life.

With a groan muffled by the water and the bubbles that escaped from her mouth with it, she reached up a hand to the glass lid of the containment. Clutching at her chest as her lungs threatened to break free she turned her head up and let a still bloodied hand, sticky and red, draw across the glass.

_L. _

It was a scraggily looking letter but it would have to do. She continued frantically, switching hands when the blood smeared all way from the first. She worked desperately as bubbles poured from her mouth in her hurry and desperation. Her arms moved erratically, her legs kicked at the glass in front of her. Finally, the last letter appeared. Her hand slipped back into the water in exhaustion and she tried to quiet her movements so the close surface of the water wouldn't wash away the blood on the lid. Her hazy, unfocused eyes lifted towards the top to survey her work.

_L A E H EM_

Purple light swirled around her neck. The white hot pain vanished in a second. She pressed a hand against her throat and found the wound closed up, the hole vanished and nothing but smooth skin against her bluing fingertips. One problem solved. Now, if she could just break herself out of the damn thing. But her vision was fading. Black circled in and out and she slammed a fist desperately against the glass. Her lungs were going to burst. She couldn't hold it any longer. She needed air. Needed something. Something to quench that fire in her chest.

The rest of her air flew from her mouth in an explosion of bubbles. Water poured into her lungs. Her body convulsed and rejected it. She felt it climb into her sinuses. She clawed at the glass and writhed in her small confinements. The world faded away.

"Tick, tock, tick, tock Batsy! I don't think she's gonna make it," the Joker was cackling after passing a glance behind the Dark Knight to the glass confinement. "Its a shame, really. I was hoping she'd show me some tricks some time. Oh well!"

His laughter bent him double. And the Batman saw his window of opportunity. With his free hand that had managed to elude the straps of the chair he swung at the Joker's head. His gloved fist connected hard with the back of the clown's skull. The force was so harsh and calculated that the cackling man hit the wooden stage without even a movement of protest. With a grunt, and the help of his freed arm, the dark clad detective wrenched his other arm from the strap just as the Joker was pulling himself to his feet.

Reaching over Batman grabbed his head of greasy green hair and shoved the crown of his skull up against the chair's arm. An elbow went to the base of his neck next and a deft chop hit him square across the back, rendering him about as useless as a doll and finally silent as his gasped for air to continue his laughter. Using every second he had, the Batman undid his ankles from the straps and in a fluid motion flipped himself back over the chair in a flutter of black cloth and armor. He heard the Joker scrambling to his feet and wheezing -but the coward's footsteps were getting farther away, not closer.

"The show must go on!" he screamed out in a hyena giggle, his voice nothing but an echo in the wooden stage's berth.

There was no time to go after him, or even think about trying to slow him. Steel blue eyes from under a cowl were locked on the water container, and the unnervingly pale figure floating inside it. He was too late. With a roar the heavy figure of the Batman rammed a shoulder into the case. The glass gave way immediately and the surge of water that came at him was almost enough to knock him over. He kept his footing steady though enough and held his arms open. The sopping wet figure of his friend folded lifelessly into his arms.

His costume glittered with water and he fell to his knees in the massive flood, laying the young magician down. Her hair was sticking all over her face and he cleared it away, tilting her head back and letting a gloved finger touch curiously at her throat. There wasn't a scratch to be seen.

"Zatanna?" he growled in concern, tapping her pallid cheek.

Leaning over the woman he hovered above her mouth, waiting for the rush of breath to signal she was alive. When it didn't come he checked for her pulse. Faint, but still present. Pinching her nostrils together he leaned down and pressed his lips to her cold, smooth ones. He blew into her mouth then leaned back and shoved his hands against her diaphragm. Her body shook with his force, but she was immobile otherwise. He repeated the steps, checking for her breath, checking her pulse.

He repeated them again, shoving against her chest harder, his lips pulled back into a tortured grimace. Finally, after one shove, her body contorted on its own. Her back arched and water suddenly poured from her mouth. Her lungs flexed and she coughed violently, bloodshot violet eyes snapping open and staring at nothing as her body fought for the surface. Bruce wrapped a steadying arm back around her waist and propped her up as she heaved, her body trembling as she emptied the last of the water from her lungs. Clearly in no condition to make an exit on her own, the Batman collected the woman into his arms and wrapped the insulated cape around her pale, damp body. Out the front entrance, into the darkness, he dropped her into the passenger seat of the Batmobile and flung himself into the drivers seat. The ceiling barely had time to close before the sleek vehicle was roaring down the road.

She was going to kill him for forgetting to pick up her hat.


	6. Chapter 6

Her first thoughts upon waking were mere embers. Glimmering faintly as her consciousness lit up again. She needed a bubble bath. A glass of Merlot. Why did her body feel so heavy? Her neck was sore. Where the hell was her hat? The sheets under her were silk. A nice touch, felt good on her skin. But -wait, where the hell was she? The embers of her thoughts flickered quicker and grew into flames. Her eyelids fluttered and she wiggled her toes. A moment of panic seized her. For a sorceress as powerful as she, it was not often she left her guard down. Much less often she woke up somewhere with no knowledge of how she got there. With great effort she forced her eyes open. Sleepy violet enjoyed a view of a creamy cloth canopy over her head. She moved her heavy arms under the blankets over her and turned her head to the side.

He sat there like a marble statue. A haggard one, perhaps, but stoic all the same. He hadn't shaved or showered. He'd at least changed out of his costume but hadn't put much effort into his choice of civilian clothes. He sat with his shoulders hunched, suggesting a sore back. The memories flooded back to her and she didn't need to look at his tired eyes to know he'd been sitting beside her the whole night. There was nothing around him, not a book or magazine to pass the time or a phone. No signs of any niceties to have made him more comfortable at his post watching over her. He'd stayed as vigilant as his namesake was infamous for at her side -and in the disintegrating pictures of her dreams she felt a quiet security over them, as if she'd somehow known a pair of familiar blue eyes watched over her.

She attempted to sit upright against the expensive wooden frame of the bed but found the task too advanced for her still recovering body. Bruce made a move to go to her but seemed to think better of it and returned to his stiff, stoic position. She looked at him for a long while. He allowed her to look this time, it seemed. He didn't throw up his walls or stare right through her. He let her roam his face with her gaze and returned the hunger, as if he was content to stare and memorize forever.

After a long pause, Zatanna wet her lips and tested her voice.

"The Joker?" she asked hoarsely.

Bruce nodded. The shadows caught the grooves of his face and the tired shadows of stubble, "He killed Loxias months ago and took up his persona. But after a while he got bored of getting praise as Loxias instead of himself and killed Katy to get your attention."

Zatanna grimaced. The angry blood surged back inside her. She felt a vein in her throat pumping. Her hair tangled at the base of her neck and she swept it away with a lazy, pained movement of her arm. She had no words left for him. None that would matter, anyway. She was too tired to sustain the thick pumping of blood for long and her body settled back into a haze. Her eyes lifted to Bruce's. The freedom to gaze at him was much appreciated, but also worrying. Now that she could get a good look she noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the gauntness of his usually healthy cheeks. How could so much have changed in so little time?

"You stayed." Her words were meek, unsure of how he'd take them. He seemed warmer now than he had been before but she wasn't sure where the limits were drawn. He didn't say anything for a moment and her comedic edge scrambled to salvage the air of the conversation. "Gotta be careful with that, you'll spoil a girl with all the special treatment."

If he was a different man, he might have smiled. In a different life he could have chuckled. But his visage remained stony. His eyes held the only sign of life left in him. Blue and cold, they passed over her pale face with curiosity. He ignored her words and countered with a question.

"Why did you chose to heal yourself instead of freeing yourself from the tank?"

The question was so abrupt it surprised her. His voice was smooth like velvet and rattled her. But she was undeterred. She knew the answer and didn't feel any need to lie to him. Her hands folded on top of the blankets over her and for the first time she noticed she was wrapped in a towel with her damp stage costume still pressed uncomfortably against her skin.

"Simple. If I had freed myself I would have been too weak to cast another spell. So, I figured I just heal myself and trust the Batman to save me," she paused with a smile that might have been coy if her eyes weren't so sad, "He always does."

Bruce stood. He felt miles away from her once again and she sank back into the pillows in defeat. He crossed the room and paused at the doorway.

"There's clothes and a fresh towel for you in the bathroom," he murmured before slipping out into the hallway and disappearing.

Zatanna turned on her side and pressed her cheek into one of the pillows. Her hair was still damp and clung to her cheek as she squeezed her eyes shut and curled her knees into her chest.


End file.
